“But I thought you said,” objected Mrs Pargeter reasonably enough, “that the power came with the tassel, as it were. I thought you said the men had always got the advantage.”
“Oh, they think they have, but that’s just a product of another form of brainwashing. You see, even for my generation, marriage and fidelity were still the ideals. But some of the young ones now just don’t think that way.”
“I thought this dreadful AIDS business was bringing monogamy back.”
“I don’t think it’s making that lot change their behaviour much. Anyway, Mrs Pargeter, I’m not just talking about sex. The young are much more prepared to be selfish, just to have a good time, than we ever were. I mean, take Kirsten…”
“Your
“Yes, her life is completely dedicated to pleasure. She goes out with men if she chooses to, but ensures that they pay for everything. And she spends the rest of her time buying clothes or going to clubs or sending off endless bulky letters to friends in Norway.”
“I thought she was over here to be helping you and learning the language.”
Sue Curle tossed her head back. “Huh. And huh again. In fact, huh on both counts. She’s useless. It’s like having another child around. I have to go around tidying up after her. She won’t even pick up a pair of her own dirty tights.”
“Well, can’t you get rid of her?”
“Oh yes, sure, I could. But, honestly, it’s hardly worth it. For a start, I haven’t got time to traipse round looking for a replacement at the moment. And, anyway, she goes back to Norway for good in a couple of months. I’m just hoping that between now and then I’ll be able to sort something out. The trouble is, having just gone back to work, time is at a premium.”
This thought prompted her to look at her watch, but before she could say it was time to be off, Mrs Pargeter asked, “Where does Kirsten get the money to buy all these clothes? I didn’t think
“No, they’re not. Must have rich parents, I suppose.” Then she looked again at her watch. “Sorry, I must be off now. I’ve got to be in the office this afternoon, and I haven’t sorted out anything for the kids’ supper yet.”
“Doesn’t Kirsten even do that?”
This was greeted with another ‘Huh’. Sue went on, “I don’t know why people go on having
“I have heard,” said Mrs Pargeter mischievously, “of one or two husbands who have.”
Sue Curle grinned wryly. “Yes. Right. That just about says it all, doesn’t it? Another triumph for the tassel.” She picked up her handbag. “Look, I must be off. Thanks very much for the coffee. It was a really nice break.”
“I should be going, too,” Vivvi Sprake agreed, perhaps too quickly, after Sue had disappeared up the front path. She didn’t seem to want to be left alone with her hostess.
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t have to rush, Vivvi. I did just want to ask you about something…”
“Oh. What?”
For a moment Mrs Pargeter was thrown. Then she remembered her good old stand-by excuse. “About gardeners…”
Yes, about gardeners first. And then about Rod Cotton…
“Oh. All right.” Vivvi put her handbag down. She didn’t look very happy about it, but she knew she couldn’t rush off without actual rudeness.
“Yes, Vivvi. What I wanted to ask was –”
But then the telephone rang. Just at the wrong moment. It let Vivvi Sprake off the hook. As Mrs Pargeter went to answer it, her guest said hastily, “Look, sorry, I really must dash. Didn’t realise it was so late. We’ll talk about gardeners another time – OK?”
And she was out of the front door before Mrs Pargeter had picked up the receiver.
How infuriating!
“Hello?” said Mrs Pargeter into the phone.
“Mrs Pargeter? It’s Keyhole.” His voice was tense and subdued.
“Oh?”
“I did it last night. Like you asked.”
“Oh yes?”
“And I’m afraid you was right.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Pargeter, reaching for a chair to support herself. “Oh dear, oh dear.”
? Mrs, Presumed Dead ?
Twenty-Three
“Tell me what happened, Keyhole,” she said.
“Job went easy. No problem. Sorted things out in the nick…”
“Wasn’t that difficult?”
“No. Like I said, done it before. You know, wedding anniversaries, that kind of special occasion…”
“Yes.”
“Mind you, of course, any celebrations have to be on the, sort of, domestic side. Can’t really take the missus out for a nice meal, or up West for a show, you know, bit risky, that.”
“I’m sure. But, last night…”
“Oh yeah. Right. Last night. Well, as I say, no problem getting out of the nick. In many ways it’s easier, really, doing it after we’ve all been locked in. Screws aren’t looking out for trouble. They, like, relax their vigilance. I mean, during the day they –”
“Yes.”
The tension in Mrs Pargeter’s voice got through to him, and Keyhole Crabbe speeded up his narrative. “Anyway, outside the prison, met up with my mate all right. He’d got the car and organised the gear, skeleton keys and that, and off we go to Worcester. No problem finding the place. We done our homework and knew exactly where to go. Blooming great warehouse, it was.”
“What was the security like?”
“Nothing to worry about.”
“You mean there wasn’t any?”
“Oh no. They got a couple of blokes with dogs come round, you know, patrol every hour or so. And they got these alarms on the doors and windows. But my mate’s sussed it all out beforehand, so we don’t have no difficulty.”
“And no problem getting into the depository?”
“No. Three locks, all dead easy. Could’ve done them with a piece of soggy macaroni.”
“And inside?”
“Bloody big, I’ll say that – pardon my French. All these blooming great containers. That could’ve been a problem…you know, so many of them…not knowing where to look, that sort of number. Could’ve spent a long time going through everything in a big place like that. Heavy gear to move, and all.”
“But you managed?” Mrs Pargeter urged him on.
“Yes. Like I say, my mate’s good. He’d done his research on the inside of the place, too. Took me straight to the right container.”
“So you started to unpack it?”
“Yeah. Glad there was two of us. Half weigh a lot, wardrobes and that.”
“Yes?” Mrs Pargeter was finding the tension unbearable. “So where was it? What did you find?”
“You was right. It was in the freezer.”
“Oh.”
“That was locked, and all. No problem there, though…” He seemed to be slowing down again, unwilling to
